


flying or falling

by starlightwalking



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Childhood Trauma, Dreams and Nightmares, Gen, Third Kinslaying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:27:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28950387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightwalking/pseuds/starlightwalking
Summary: She’s dreamed of falling as long as she can remember.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 19





	flying or falling

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally supposed to be the Elwing/Maedhros fic I wrote a few weeks back, but it turned into more of a character study of Elwing than anything else. This version is canon compliant, deals with canon themes, and is (imo) much more sympathetic to Elwing, but the two fics are similar in style and tone.  
> CW for the canon things that happen, including vague discussion of pregnancy and childbirth.

She’s dreamed of falling as long as she can remember. Never landing, only falling, and a burning in her bosom that leaves her screaming as she wakes.

Sometimes, it feels like flying.

* * *

She doesn’t remember her family. She hears stories of them—a brave father, a clever mother, two laughing brothers—but she can no more recall them than she can the song of Lúthien.

(The song of Melian, though—this she knows. It sings in her blood, louder even than her nightly screams.)

* * *

Her family died for the jewel at her chest. She lost them for the sake of this gem. She hates it—but the Silmaril is more father to her than Dior could ever be. It is more mother than Nimloth’s whispered farewell.

She thinks, sometimes, that she remembers her brothers: running, running, running away. Her legs are too short to follow.

But this is her only memory. Perhaps this, too, is but a dream.

* * *

Eärendil smiles and promises hope. He promises a future. He has all his father’s blessed optimism, all his mother’s foresight.

She doesn’t believe his promises. She knows when she weds him that he will not keep his vows.

* * *

She doesn’t know what to do when she finds out. It wasn’t intentional—it’s not fair she doesn’t get a choice in the way her ancestresses all have. But she is a peredhel woman, unlike the mortal Men who wed her elven foremothers, and the strain of her fathers’ blood runs true.

She should have known, really. Her father didn’t live long enough to come into his mortality, but it crept at the edges of his mind, so she has heard.

Perhaps it is _his_ fear that hides in the cavity of her chest, just below the jewel at her throat. He was known for his bravery. Perhaps he gave his terror to his daughter.

Perhaps without it, he died for lack of wisdom.

Perhaps with it, she will survive, long enough to see her sons grown.

* * *

Idril is pale from the shock of all the blood, but the mortal nurse is unfazed. This is normal, she assures, for mortal women.

Twins. She holds them in her arms and sees the brothers who vanished in the dark woods.

That night, as she dreams, she sees— _something_ at the bottom of her fall. She can’t tell what it is, but she knows: there is an end.

It is this she fears most of all.

* * *

He leaves. She lets him go. He will return, or he will not.

She has never had the luxury of depending on anyone but herself.

(It is only for the sake of her sons that she wishes he would stay.)

* * *

Every night she falls closer to the end. She still cannot tell what awaits her.

(Perhaps if she were not so accustomed to it, she would recognize the salt-scent of the sea.)

* * *

When she receives the Kinslayers’ demand, she _laughs_.

* * *

She has nothing and no one, save her sons and that damned jewel.

And to save her sons—she must lose them. She must send them away, hide them in a cave, keep them safe from the doom upon her breast.

The choice is easy. That does not mean it doesn’t break her heart.

* * *

They come in fire and blood as she knew they would. She waits for them at the top of her white tower. She does not run or hide.

She wants them to see her before the end. She wants them to know how close they are, so they know how far they, like she, will fall.

* * *

She clutches the jewel at her chest—and she falls.

The end is here. She will meet it gladly.

* * *

She thinks, before she hits the water:

_They will never have their jewels.  
_ _They will never touch my sons.  
_ _There is no other way._

She is wrong on every count.

* * *

She soars away, cheated from her sacrifice.

There is no fear in her heart, no longer. The jewel has burned it all away.

Was this the rage her father felt before he died?

* * *

She never dreams of falling again.

In truth, she never dreams at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and please comment if you enjoyed!  
> You can find me on tumblr [@arofili](http://arofili.tumblr.com/).


End file.
